Tony and Carol - the Final Chapter
by SometimeWriter
Summary: Based on the books more than the TV show, this takes the most recent book to what I feel is the only direction left.


It had been the better part of a year since Jacko Vance had made his final exit, and every day, Tony thought of Vance and the way he had torn apart so many lives.

Tony had taken refuge on his boat, the one thing his father had left him that Vance hadn't destroyed. Well, that and the tape detailing the reasons why his parents had never married, why his father had never been present in Tony's life. Vance hadn't done anything to the contents of Tony's other house, the one that didn't feel like home. The one he no longer owned, come to that.

Carol's face often came to him, usually when he least expected or wanted it. The sight of her vomiting hatred and blame at him, standing in the room where Michael and Lucy had been slaughtered, would not leave his mind. It had never occurred to him that she could blame him for what had happened to her family, yet that was the first thing she did. She blamed him, she hated him, she drove madly from the murder scene, leaving him stranded.

They had been through so much, he thought often. All those years, all that history, and for what? He pulled up an earlier memory: On his knees, in a German warehouse, awaiting the gunshot to the head. Then the police had burst in, and Carol. Beaten, savagely raped, yet she had forced a policewoman she'd only just met to drive her to the scene. And she held him.

She'd never hold him again, he thought bitterly. He checked his watch, and saw that it was time for his appointment.

"Dr. Hill," the man said warmly.

"Dr. Anderson," Tony said, shaking hands.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Anderson said, motioning for Tony to sit down. "I don't often meet someone in your line of work."

"It's not my line of work," Tony reminded him.

"Of course," Anderson agreed. "Now, what do you plan to get out of your therapy sessions with me?"

* * *

Months later, Tony was amazed at the progress he'd made. Anderson was one of the top psychologists in his field, of course; Tony had researched him thoroughly. He had laid it on the line the first day: "You know as well as I do that many patients come to us not for help, but for validation. They come to us for attention. They come to us for a variety of reasons, most of them wrong. I'll know if you're not doing your part, and I'll keep you on course. You may grow to hate me, as some of your patients have hated you. I won't give you platitudes and condolences. I'll give you what you need. I'll piss you off. I'll make you laugh, and I'll make you think. I'll watch you cry. And I expect you to keep your appointments so that I can continue doing it until you don't need me anymore."

Tony smiled, remembering Anderson's words. He'd been right; therapy had been very painful for Tony. Together, they had dug through the detritus of Tony's life: His mother, the bullying he'd experienced at school, the way he had thrown himself first into his studies and then into his career, and his work with the police.

And Carol.

In a way, that had been the most painful area for him. Dr. Tony Hill, with his education and qualifications, was just a part he played. He wasn't the successful man of the world. He was a sad, frightened man, carrying the enormous burden of the past. He had been carrying the burden when he met Carol. He still carried some of it, but the weight was less now; oh, much less!

He was still living in his boat. He wondered where his father had sailed in it. The sights he had seen. Tony had used it a fair bit himself, meandering through the countryside, with no particular destination in mind. It was better than returning to Bradfield, and he had no other residence to call his own.

Carol Jordan almost fell out of bed when the phone rang. She managed to croak out a "Hello?"

"It's Paula," the voice on the phone said hesitantly.

"Whuh?"

"Paula. Paula McIntyre? We used to work together?" It was unlike Paula to be so hesitant, but she knew how Carol could be these days.

"Oh right. Paula. How're you."

"Fine, thanks. Actually, I was calling to see how you were."

Carol blinked at the clock. She blinked several times, not believing what she saw. "Five o'clock?"

"Yes," Paula said.

"Morning?"

"No, evening." Paula hesitated. "How long since you've been out of the flat?"

"Dunno," Carol told her, knowing where this conversation was going.

"I'll come over, then," Paula responded, in a tone that brooked no arguments.

Carol groaned and hung up.

Paula was as good as her word. She arrived half an hour later, when Carol was marginally more awake. She pulled several carrier bags of groceries out of the car and struggled to the door, knocking with one elbow until Carol opened it.

Paula almost dropped the bags in shock. It was clear that Carol had not showered in days. How long it had been since she had eaten, Paula had no idea. She was almost skeletally thin, and her hair was greasy and matted. Paula had seen some nightmarish crime scenes, but looking at the inside of Carol's flat was almost worse. Food rotted in the kitchen and in corners of other rooms, including the bathroom. The bed was rumpled, and the white sheets had turned a greyish colour from lack of washing. The toilet was unflushed and reeking. It looked more like a job for a cleanup squad than one policewoman, but Paula knew she couldn't leave Carol in this filth. She pulled out her phone and called Elinor.

Hours later, Carol was asleep again, this time in a clean bed. Elinor had taken over the job of getting Carol into the shower and cleaned up while Paula took on the task of removing all the old food from the flat. That one job took far longer than she had expected. Food was under the bed, in the bed, between books on the shelves, under the sink, and the refrigerator was a horror of slime and mould. Once the food was gone, and the floors vacuumed, Paula and Elinor washed all of Carol's bedding and clothing in hot water. The two women tackled the bathroom together, put books and DVDs on the shelves, and threw away the dead plants. When they were done, the place was clean, but depressing.

Paula looked at Elinor. "I wish I could contact Tony Hill," she whispered, as if the name would cause Carol to wake up and begin screaming at her for mentioning his name.

"Can't you?" Elinor asked. "Have you lost his number?"

Paula shook her head. "No, I still have it. But calling him won't help Carol, and I don't think it would help him, either. She really hates him."

"Why? Because of what happened to her brother and his girlfriend?"

"Yes, she still thinks it's all his fault. She even told him that he had done the murders, just as much as Jacko Vance did."

Elinor looked horrified. "I had no idea. I mean, you told me that she hated him because he didn't predict Vance going after her brother, but making him equally guilty – how could she do that?"

"I don't know," Paula admitted. "To be honest with you, I used to have a bit of a crush on Carol. She was so strong and determined, and she was so good at her job – "

"And beautiful," Elinor added with a smile.

"Yeah, and that. But ever since her brother was killed, I've seen a whole new side to her. We knew she had a drinking problem, even though she thought she was hiding it. Every time she opened a drawer in her desk, we would hear a clinking sound. She had alcohol on her breath almost all the time. But we couldn't talk to her about it. We hoped Tony would, but she never said anything about it."

"No," Elinor sighed, "she wouldn't, would she?"

"I think she should have been in treatment then, a long time before Michael and Lucy were killed. She was raped when a job went wrong in Germany, and I think that's where it started. She thought she had to be everyone's blue-eyed girl, and Tony – "

"Tony enabled her," Elinor said flatly.

* * *

Elinor would have been surprised to learn that Tony now knew it, too. His sessions with Dr. Anderson had shown him that in addition to being Carol's best friend, he had, in many ways, been her worst enemy. He had confronted her about her drinking, yes, but he had never pushed the issue; he had been terrified of losing her. He hadn't pointed out her self-destructive behavior. What an irony, he thought, that he had skirted so many issues, fearful of alienating her, when he had lost her forever for another reason entirely.

Tony scrolled through his emails. As always, he had messages from friends – more friends than he'd realized he had – and colleagues, all wishing him well. A few colleagues had sent tentative work offers, but Tony knew he wasn't ready to work yet, and Anderson agreed.

"You've made your work your whole life," he'd pointed out, "instead of balancing the two. Work was a form of escape. We'll both know when you're ready to work again, but now is not the time."

Never, in his adult life, had Tony had so much free time. He was surprised to find that he didn't miss working as much as he thought he would. He slept when he wanted, and he _did_ sleep; his insomnia was now a thing of the past. He got up when he wanted. He ate when he wanted. He was no longer bound by the clock, and of course, nobody called him to look at crime scenes. He had never been more relaxed. He wondered about the people back in Bradfield occasionally, but he knew better than to contact any of them and deal with wounds that were still sore. Besides, he didn't know quite where everyone was. Carol's team had been disbanded, orders of the high and mighty Blake, and he had left the city without learning where they had relocated.

It was better this way, Tony decided. He needed to take a break from everything. The cycle of his life had been broken, and things could never return to normal – whatever "normal" was. How strange that it took the likes of Vance to show him everything that was wrong with his life.

* * *

Carol opened her eyes and looked around the room, confused. Everything was clean. Even she was clean. Had she done that? She ran a hand through her hair, surprised at the soft feel of it. What had happened?

"Good morning," said an unfamiliar voice.

Carol focused on an attractive woman sitting on the chair nearby. Had they met? Had someone found a cleaning lady for her? Wait. The woman looked vaguely familiar.

"Who are you?" she croaked.

"Elinor Blessing," the woman answered.

Carol's memory began to work. Dr. Blessing. The one who'd spotted the ricin poisoning, then gave the necessary information on DNA for them to crack the serial killings of children. Now involved with Paula.

"Did you do all this?" she asked.

Elinor smiled. "Not all of it. Paula had me come round when she saw the state you were in. Being a doctor, my first job was to get you clean. Then the two of us went to work on your flat."

"Thank you," Carol whispered. She shivered.

Elinor walked to the bed and felt Carol's forehead. It was warmer than it should have been. "You should be in hospital."

"No! No hospital!" Carol ducked away from Elinor's hand.

Elinor sat on the bed, looking at Carol. "When Paula and I were cleaning, we found a hoard of vodka bottles, the small airline kind."

Carol refused to meet Elinor's eyes.

"We threw them away," Elinor told her.

Carol gasped. "You threw … how could you … I mean, it's mine … I mean …"

"Carol, it doesn't take a doctor to see that you're ill. You've been living in filth, you haven't been eating, and you have a serious drinking problem."

"I do not! I can quit – "

"Anytime you want, I know. That's the classic addict's excuse, but it won't work here. Paula told me that she and the rest of your team have known about your problem for some time."

Carol pulled the duvet around her shoulders. "You don't understand. My brother –"

"Yes, your brother and his girlfriend were murdered by a man you once put away, because he wanted to punish you. And you were raped in Germany during a mission that went wrong. Carol, you've hard far too much to deal with, and you haven't been able to do it."

"So now I can't manage my life?"

"No, you can't. And there's no shame in it. You're not Superwoman. You're someone who has been under unbearable pressure, with grief added to it. Why didn't you find a good therapist after what happened in Berlin?"

"I couldn't. People would have found out. They –"

"What, they would have thought you were less than perfect? How dare they?" Elinor asked sarcastically. "You had the strength to stand up in front of your team and admit to them that you'd been raped. Why would it have been harder to tell a therapist about it?"

"That's for other people. I don't need therapy. I can handle things myself."

"Clearly, you can't," Elinor pointed out. "You had that drinking problem –"

"_I don't have a drinking problem!"_

"You had that drinking problem," Elinor overrode her, "before you lost your brother and his girlfriend. So no, you weren't in control."

"I don't want to listen. I didn't ask you to come over here and play housewife with Paula. Why can't you just leave me alone?" Carol whined.

"Because," Elinor told her bluntly, "if you are left alone, you will die. And then your parents will have to bury the only child they have left."

* * *

Tony was discovering what life was like without work, without murders, without destruction, without Carol. He didn't watch TV or keep up with the news, so life was blissfully ordinary. He watched people going about their lives, and wondered what things were important to them. He experienced the novelty of going to the cinema in the middle of the day. He read classic novels. He went for long walks. He realized that he could do much more than just try to pass for human.

Alvin Ambrose often wondered what had happened to Carol Jordan's transfer. The woman had never arrived in Worcester for her new job. It wasn't surprising, under the circumstances, but he thought that someone should have heard from her by now. He had tried many times to call Tony Hill, only to be sent to voice mail. He missed his friend, and wanted to hear from him. Alvin drove by the site of Tony's house occasionally, wishing he could have seen the interior. He wondered what would have happened if Vance had never escaped, or if they had caught him before he'd been able to kill anyone. Michael and Lucy, Tony, Carol, that friend of Carol's who'd been burned by acid – so many lives irretrievably damaged.

Paula ran her hand across Nelson's back, grateful as always that she and Elinor had kept him with them. The elderly cat would have died if he had been with Carol, she now knew. Worse, she wasn't sure how much Carol would have cared.

Paula had been badly shaken by the sight of Carol. She didn't know what she would do if someone close to her were taken like that, so suddenly, unexpectedly, horribly. She hoped that Elinor would be there to ground her and support her. Paula had thought that Carol would always have Tony, no matter what, but too many officers who had been at the murder scene had told her of the vile accusations Carol had screamed at him. After weighing all the circumstances, Paula had to admit that in Tony's place, she would have left, too.

Carol sat sullenly in her living room while Elinor talked to her. She had put on some weight (under threat of force-feeding), and she was now showering and washing her hair daily. Elinor and Paula were still carrying a heavy load, doing all the shopping, cooking, and cleaning. They wouldn't buy any alcohol, and they went through the flat daily to make sure Carol wasn't hiding any. Carol was pissed off, and she didn't try to hide it. Elinor was fast running out of patience, and even Paula was getting tired of it. Both she and Elinor had very demanding jobs, yet here they were, babysitting a woman who would barely lift a finger to help herself.

"I want a drink," Carol demanded suddenly.

"You can't have one," Elinor answered, wearily.

"I said. I want. A fucking. Drink. Now!" Carol shouted.

"And I said you can't fucking have one," Elinor snapped.

"Fuck this. If you won't give me a fucking drink, I'll fucking get it my fucking self." Carol stood and headed for the door. Paula blocked her.

"Get out of my way."

"No. You're not going to do this."

"I've told you before – I've told both of you before – I don't have a fucking drinking problem! I just need a drink, and I'm going to get one!"

Elinor broke in. "Frankly, Carol, if you think we're doing this for the fun of it, you're mistaken. I'm here because I'm a doctor, and my job is to help people. Paula is here because you were once her boss, and she feels that she owes you. I've seen far too many alcoholics to be mistaken about you. If you want someone to give you free rein, you'll have to find your friend Tony."

"_Don't you EVER DARE speak his name to me!"_ Carol bellowed.

Paula was so shocked, she almost stepped away from the door. Elinor wasn't impressed.

"You think you can scare me? Or order me around? You're not DCI Carol Jordan anymore, you know. You're a civilian now. You have no team, no office, and no job. You're not in control; I've told you before. But you can be. You _can_ do this, if you want to do it. You can take a good look at yourself and your life and decide to make things better. Or you can keep doing what you're doing, in which case someone will find you dead in here within a year, or more likely, a few months."

"My brother –"

"How much longer are you going to use your brother as an excuse? Or Tony Hill as a scapegoat?"

Carol's face purpled at the second mention of Tony's name, but Elinor cut off her attempt to speak.

"I've seen stronger women than you fall apart for far less reason. I would have been surprised if you had managed to keep it together. You have a lot of friends who care about you, if you'll let them. Why can't you allow yourself to be helped by them?"

"Like that bastard helped me? Pretending he cared about me, when he didn't tell me Vance would go after my family?"

Elinor looked at Carol incredulously. "Are you saying that you believe Tony knew all along Vance was targeting your brother and his girlfriend, but kept it from you?"

"He did! He knows everything! He knows what people will do, and when they'll do it! He wanted Michael and Lucy gone so I would depend more on him!"

Paula felt weak. She shared a look with Elinor, who seemed equally stunned. Paula had hoped that, one day, Carol would stop blaming Tony for the double murder, but now she saw how bad Carol had become. Paula wondered if Carol had truly lost her mind. She'd seen some desperate attempts from victims' families to lay blame, but this was something new.

Carol began to make a sound. At first, Elinor and Paula thought she was crying again. Then she lifted her head, baring her teeth in a hideous grin.

"What's so funny?" Elinor asked cautiously.

"Tony. He thought he was so clever, didn't he? Trying to bring me closer to him? Sad little impotent Tony? It didn't work, did it? He didn't get me, did he?"

Elinor mentally thanked whatever deity might watch over them for that favour. "So, he didn't get you. Why is that so funny?"

Carol sat back on the couch and rocked back and forth, giggling horribly. "Vance killed Michael and Lucy, but Tony didn't have anyone to kill. It wasn't fair, me losing so much and him losing nothing. So I made sure he did."

Elinor and Paula looked at each other again, horrified. Carol would not stop giggling.

"I did it," she gloated. "I burnt his house down."

* * *

Much later, in bed, the two women were still discussing the events of the day.

"Do you think she really did it?" Elinor asked.

"I hope not," Paula said sincerely. "But the way she's been acting, I'm afraid she did."

"What can we do about it?"

"Right now, nothing. I don't want to be the one who turns her in for arson. And she's in no state to stand trial."

Elinor sighed. "What a bloody mess. We'll have to do something eventually."

* * *

Eventually was much closer than either of them knew. Three days later, Carol overdosed ten minutes before Elinor paid her a surprise visit. She awoke in hospital, with Elinor glaring at her.

"Well. You're still in the world of the living," Elinor told her coldly.

"Fuck off," Carol mumbled.

"I'll fuck off when I'm good and ready," Elinor shot back. "Right now, I'm your doctor, so you'll follow my orders implicitly."

Carol shook her head, trying to clear it. "Elinor. I'm. Not feeling well."

"I know, with all that stuff you took. Good thing for you, I came along when I did."

"I wish you hadn't."

Elinor softened slightly. "I know. I believe you wanted to die, and by the look of you, you still do. Please, Carol, help me help you. Paula and I have been here all along."

"I know," Carol agreed, "but it doesn't help. Nothing helps."

"Carol," Elinor said, "you need more than medical help. You have for a long time. I am sending you to a psychiatric facility."

* * *

Three months later, Tony felt better than ever. Dr. Anderson had been right about everything – the pain, the reluctance to change, the anxiety at the thought of leaving behind everything familiar, the frustration when his life didn't change overnight. Tony had screamed and cried, laughed, panicked, and he had done it all many times.

"So, Tony, this is our last session," Dr. Anderson said warmly.

"It feels very strange to know I won't be returning," Tony told him.

"You will, but not as a patient," the doctor said.

"Yes, eventually."

Dr. Anderson hesitated for a moment, then asked, "What are your plans for work and a place to live?"

"I hadn't thought much. Why do you ask?"

"Tony, you're one of the best. I know of a few vacancies in your field, if you'd like to return to it."

Tony smiled. "I'm not so sure. It's all I know how to do, but maybe this is the time to learn another trade. Or at least, another branch of this one."

Anderson smiled back. "Good. That was a test."

"I know."

Both men laughed.

* * *

Tony travelled leisurely to Bradfield by boat. He'd grown accustomed to sailing rather than driving, his house going with him. He didn't know what to expect from this return. He had no intention of living in the city, or its surroundings, again. He did want to see old friends and catch up.

Bradfield looked the same as ever, and Tony wondered if any horrible murders had taken place there recently. It was hard to believe that one city could be the site of so much vicious crime. He was surprised that the city was so large, with such an exorbitant death rate.

As he walked down the street, Tony was momentarily paralyzed by a loud scream.

"_TONY!"_

He turned just in time to catch Paula. She almost knocked both of them over, wrapping him in a bear hug. He was more pleased to see her than he would have imagined, and he returned the hug with equal strength.

"Paula! I just got here. I've been in therapy for some time, and –"

"Same old Tony!" Paula laughed.

Tony realized what she meant. "I'm sorry. How are you? I haven't seen you in some time."

Paula's eyes danced. "No, you haven't. And you're coming home to have dinner with us."

"Us?"

"Do you remember Elinor Blessing?"

Tony thought for a moment. "Oh, yes, the ricin poisoning. She figured it out, didn't she?"

"Yes, and we're living together now, and you're coming with me right now. You're in the hands of the law."

Tony laughed and followed Paula to her car.

Later that evening, Tony was comfortably full. He relaxed on the couch, with Nelson on his lap.

"You still haven't told me why he's here," Tony told Elinor.

Elinor looked uneasy. "We took care of him when Carol was so busy."

Tony nodded. "I remember, and Chris was burnt and blinded when she tried to take his food with her. I understand that you took care of him then, but what about now? Why hasn't Carol brought him home?"

Paula spoke up. "Tony, this is a very hard thing for me to say, and it will be much harder for you to hear. I have to tell you that."

"It's all right," Tony reassured her. "I've spent a long time getting used to the idea of setting foot in Bradfield again. It's been hard, but worth it."

Paula and Elinor believed him. He looked relaxed and content. His once-penetrating gaze had softened, and he was no longer ill at ease with physical contact. He looked right at home with the cat on his lap.

"All right," Paula said slowly, "I'll tell you."

* * *

As Paula spoke, Tony's incredulity grew. The news of Carol's alcoholism, isolation, illness, and attempted suicide shocked him. He wasn't surprised, though, to learn that she had continued to blame him for the murders he hadn't foreseen. It was another crutch, another way to be a victim. The one thing she didn't tell him, couldn't bring herself to tell him, was Carol's claim that she had set fire to Tony's beloved house.

Elinor broke in. "Tony, when Chris was burnt with the acid, Carol never visited her. She never even asked if Chris was going to pull through. She knew we had Nelson here, but she didn't ask for him back. She just turned away from everyone, including her parents."

"I'm not surprised," Tony mused.

"You're not?" Paula asked.

"No. It's easier to be a victim when you're alone. Other people tend to pull you out of your self-pity."

Paula was amazed. She had never heard Tony speak like this of Carol. She wondered what his feelings for her were now.

"Tony…" she hesitated. "Did you come to Bradfield to see her?"

"No," Tony said decisively. "I did not. I came here to see old friends."

Elinor choked on her coffee. "You don't consider her a friend?"

"Not now. There was a time when I couldn't have imagined my life without her. I had to see her every day, and hear her voice. Some may find that romantic, but it was need, not romance. I needed her like she needed alcohol. Ours was not a healthy relationship. I believe it would have ended anyway, even if Vance had remained in prison for the rest of his life."

Paula's eyes were huge. She was glad that Carol would never hear this conversation. "What else did you resolve in therapy?"

"Do you remember Vanessa? My mother?"

"Yes – well, I haven't met her, but I've heard of her."

"The woman who killed the infamous Jacko Vance. Isn't it silly that a man as powerful and driven as he should be taken down by an elderly woman? Yet she did it."

Paula and Elinor wondered where the conversation was going. Tony held up his hand.

"I know, you want to know what else I've learned. My mother, Vanessa, is a hard, bitter, cruel woman who blamed me for everything that went wrong in her life." He watched the realization dawn on their faces.

"And Carol is the same. Driven, determined, and unable to take responsibility for her life. Carol and Vanessa are equally toxic; they might as well be the same woman. All that time, when I thought I was escaping the past, I was running back into it."

* * *

Carol would never know it, but while she was undergoing treatment, Tony Hill was encountering a depth of friendship and camaraderie he had never realized he could have. With no chance of running into her, he visited his friends from the old team. Kevin had shaken his hand, then pulled him into an awkward hug. John Brandon had welcomed him in grand style, insisting that Tony stay for dinner. Chris, still in a fragile physical and emotional state from the acid burning, leaned on him as they visited a garden; she could no longer see the flowers, but she could smell them. And there were the others. Crime victims; families of crime victims. People he had helped over the years. They hadn't forgotten. They took him out for breakfast, lunch, dinner. They tried to give him money. One man, a builder who had heard of the arson in Worcester, offered to build a new house on the site. Children offered him their toys and drawings they had done. At times, Tony cried himself to sleep, but out of joy, not sorrow. Everything was still so new.

At times, Carol seemed willing to accept help. By and large, though, she remained entrenched in her overwhelming need to believe that she could blame Tony for – everything, now. Tony's comparison of Carol and Vanessa was more accurate than even he knew, or cared to know.

Tony stayed with Paula and Elinor for a month. They both wanted him to stay longer, but he felt he had encroached on their good will, not to mention their privacy, long enough. With promises to visit, he left in a flurry of hugs.

He had no idea where he was going, but he knew he would get there.


End file.
